The New Joker
by GeekFiend
Summary: A child born to the Joker and Batman, a young man turned experiment, two Batman's? You'll have to read to find out. Rated for some language.
1. Chapter 1

The New Joker

Prologue

"The Joker's in recovery, Dr. Hurd." The nurse held a small bundle in her arms. "He's going to make a full recovery."

"Is that the child?" the doctor asked.

"Yes, we managed to save him." The nurse held out the little baby boy for Dr. Hurd to see. "He's healthier than we expected. We were expecting him to be born with defects considering the Joker's reckless lifestyle, but he's perfectly fine. He has some good genes." The nurse smiled down at the sleeping baby. "He really is a sweetheart despite his parentage. What should we do with him, Doctor?"

"Well, he obviously can't stay here." Dr. Hurd eyed the baby warily. "We'll have to put him up for adoption."

"Very well, Doctor." The nurse smiled and turned to leave, taking the newborn with her.

(TNJ)

It wasn't long before Bruce Wayne found out about the baby's birth.

"The Joker had a boy." Alfred got off the phone and started to prepare Bruce's tea. "They're putting him up for adoption."

"What does it matter, Alfred?" Bruce sat in his armchair, accepting the cup of tea from his butler. "Thanks."

"Master Wayne," Alfred started slowly as he set the teapot down. "Is there any chance that you have something to do with this child?"

"What are you implying?" Bruce looked up sternly from his tea. "You think that it's mine?"

"Is it, Master Wayne?" Alfred raised his eyebrows.

"No," Bruce grumbled. "What the hell makes you think I would do something like that? With the Joker of all people?"

"You feel no obligation to help that child?" Alfred asked.

"No, I don't." Bruce crossed his arms.

"Alright." Alfred gave a little nod and turned to leave with the tea tray. "Whatever you say, Master Wayne."

Once the door had closed behind the butler, Bruce picked up the phone and called Arkham Asylum.


	2. Chapter 2

The New Joker

Chapter 1

-_Flashback-_

_Gerard Wayne was always treated differently than his brother Damian. Whereas Damian was broad shouldered and muscular like their father Bruce, Gerard was lean and shorter in stature than his brother._

_So while Damian and Bruce fenced in the courtyard, Gerard looked on from a third floor window, holding his guitar. He strummed a few chords on the red Les Paul before he tossed it aside violently. He was sick and tired of all of it. _

_Ever since Damian turned thirteen he'd been given specialized lessons from their father in all forms of combat and self-defense. When Gerard turned thirteen the next year, he wasn't given any training. When he realized the discrepancy, he secretly began to watch his brother train, picking up the moves by example and going out of his way to master them on his own when no one was around. Just because they wouldn't teach didn't mean he wouldn't learn. _

_When he turned fifteen, he paid a man in the city to teach him martial arts during the days he decided to skip school. His parents inquired about the absences, but he just told them he'd blown off school because he felt like it._

"_Hey Red!" Damian grinned up at him from outside, calling him "Red" because Gerard kept his hair dyed crimson. "You watching again? Are you jealous?"_

"_Nah!" Gerard stuck out his tongue at his brother._

"_Come down here, Gerry!" Bruce called and waved._

_Gerard entered the courtyard, barefoot because he didn't bother with shoes. He went to their father, who took out a knife and handed it to him._

"_Why don't you join us for once." Bruce smiled. "You've been watching for long enough."_

"_Okay." Gerard liked the idea of fighting with a knife. He watched its steel blade gleam in the sunlight._

"_I want you to go at Damian as if you were attacking him," Bruce directed him._

_Damian walked a few feet away from Gerard._

"_Alright." Gerard grinned. "Get ready, Dam!"_

_Gerard moved quickly towards Damian, who got into a defensive stance as his brother raised the knife. Damian's fist shot out to hit Gerard's hand that held the knife to disarm him, but Gerard saw his fist move in time to move his hand a few inches higher so Damian missed his target. Gerard raised the knife and kept going, his leg shooting out and catching Damian off guard in the stomach. Damian doubled over and Gerard set the blade to his brother's throat._

"_And you would be dead."Gerard smiled and took the knife away._

_Damian seemed to be in shock. He couldn't believe he'd been bested by his younger, untrained brother. Gerard looked at their father and found that Bruce had a concerned, thoughtful look on his face as he looked at his younger son._

_This was the first time Gerard and Damian fought._

_-End of Flashback-_

(TNJ)

The Non-Joker sat in the corner of his cell, looking fearfully towards the door. Soon the people would return, dye his hair green again, paint his face, and call him the Joker. He was fairly certain he was not this Joker person, but he knew the consequences for not accepting the name. They'd already cut his hand once and they promised to do worse if he misbehaved again.

He touched the line on his hand lightly just as the intercom spoke up, making him jump.

"Joker, are you ready for your training?" It wasn't really up to him if he was ready or not, but they always asked.

"Yes." The Non-Joker shivered as the metallic voice sounded. He didn't really want to fight anymore, but it was what he had to do to survive.

The young man's shaking hand reached into his filthy purple jacket, a thing hie disliked, and took out a knife. It was shiny and it reflected his eyes and the light from the single bulb overhead. He had once thought knives were all right, he guessed, but now it was just something to play with. They left him alone with it for hours until it became something that just was. It was a given that he had a knife in his pocket or in his hand. It was a given. And the knife became neither good nor bad as most knives were. It was just a knife that was.

He held the blade out and pointed it at the door in anticipation. They would send a man in, someone who intended to harm him and he was expected to kill the man or be hurt by him. He'd fought many men this way, all receiving a slash from the blade, but not all falling to it. Some managed to hurt him. He'd been stabbed, shot at, beaten, and even raped by the men that came to harm him. It was all part of their twisted plan, he knew, to make him think he was someone else.

_But who am I, then? _He thought as the door opened slowly.

The man in the doorway was dressed funny. He wore a bat costume. The Non-Joker thought he should know what the costume meant, but he couldn't remember. The bat man stepped into the cell, raising his fists as if in defense. The Non-Joker didn't know what to do. Should he attack the bat? Or would the bat attack him? He held the knife up still, but made no move, waiting for the bat guy to make the first move, unsure of the motives of the costumed man.

"Give it up, Joker," the bat growled. He was supposed to sound angry, but the Non-Joker sensed his falsehood.

_An actor?_ The Non-Joker thought. _As a bat? Why?_

"I can't do that, bat." The Non-Joker spoke calmly as to not offend the doctors that always listened on. "You know this."

Suddenly there was a click, a glint of dark metal in the low light, and blades struck the Non-Joker in his out-stretched arm. He cried out and the knife slipped from his fingers. The bat man had fired hidden blades from his wrist, and the wounded Non-Joker fell to the floor of the cell, clutching his arm in pain.

"Finally!" The bat man dropped his act and pulled off his cowl. "This costume is so gay!"

The man approached the Non-Joker as he knelt on the floor, clutching his wounded arm, the blades still embedded in his flesh. The bat man grabbed his short hair and pushed his face to the floor.

"Get down, bitch," the bat man growled. "I don't want to look at your ugly face when I fuck you."

"No..." The Non-Joker whimpered as the stronger man held him down. He didn't want to be raped again, especially by this costumed bastard.

With his good hand, he groped for the fallen knife blindly, cutting his fingers as his hand found the blade. He gripped the handle hard and, with one swift movement, he brought the knife back and stabbed at the man behind him. He hit his target. The knife stuck fast.

The Non-Joker pushed the screaming wounded bat man off him and pulled the knife from his side where it had sunk in. The Non-Joker lifted the knife over his head and the bat man looked up in terror as the knife came down swiftly. The young man stabbed at the bat man's throat for many times, his desperation to be unharmed fueling his hatred for the bat man who came to attack him.

He grinned in triumph as he saw that the knife had punctured the bat man's throat enough for the guy to gurgle and choke only a second before he fell over dead.

The Non-Joker got up from his knees and turned his blood spattered face to the camera in the corner. He'd attempted to disable the camera in the past, but now he leered at it, hoping the doctors and Ms. Clown were watching.

"He's coming along nicely," the woman doctor commented. "I just saw that last part, but from what I've seen, he's really improved. You're doing well, Dr. Harding."

"Thank you, Dr. Quinzel." Dr. Harding appreciated when his superior noticed his hard work. "I'd say he's almost ready for the grin. That is, if you think so as well."

"I think you're right, Dr. Harding." Dr. Quinzel smiled down at the young man in the monitor. "He is just about ready."


End file.
